


Madame Her Interpreter

by MumblingSage



Series: History, Tragedy, Lust [2]
Category: Henry V - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Bad Puns, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Smut, For the record the dirty pun was Shakespeare's fault, Language Kink, Oral Sex, but then isn't it always, mentoring relationship, or at least kinky things done with language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MumblingSage/pseuds/MumblingSage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The touch weaving over her body stills. “And what are these?”<br/>Biting back a smile, she tries to concentrate, tries to remember. “Fang—fingers.” Wrestling with the sounds in her mouth. English words. The language of the kingdom that will be hers.<br/>Alice’s touch passes along her body. “And this?”<br/>She bites harder on her smile, but can’t suppress it. Alice looks down at her, rich-lipped mouth set firm, even stern. “Without giggling, madame.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madame Her Interpreter

**Author's Note:**

> For awareness of Shakespearian double entendre I owe much to Pauline Kiernan's "Filthy Shakespeare." My humble contribution comes from the fact that it's a lot more fun all around (and also sexier) to cast Katharine as not the butt of dirty jokes in English, but someone who's completely aware of them and having a joke or two of her own.

Katharine lies back, looking at the narrow bands of light across the high ceiling and thinking of England.

The light falls through slits, and even the broadest windows in this palace are blinded by old, warped glass. All her life she’s seen the world through glimpses or distortions. Flashes of knowledge, hints of insight. She gathers them all, greedily, to piece a whole together.

She lies back and feels—not quite fractured, but incomplete. Fully aware of how much she has yet to learn. The realization doesn’t intimidate her. Instead she feels eager to begin.

Especially when her lessons have turned into such delightful games.

The touch weaving over her body stills. “And what are these?”

Biting back a smile, she tries to concentrate, tries to remember. “ _Fang—fingers_.” Wrestling with the sounds in her mouth. English words. The language of the kingdom that will be hers.

She doesn’t quite like how awkward they sound, how awkward they make her sound. But she’s learning.

“And these?” Lightly scratching. Katharine looks up, not nervous but nonetheless wanting to be sure. Alice kneels beside her on the bed, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, stray strands glowing as white as the linen of her chemise in the rays from the window. Black eyes bright, however serious her expression as she waits for an answer.

“The _nails_ ,” Katharine says.

Turning over her hand and stroking. “This?”

“The _palm_.”

Alice’s other palm passes along her body, its heat felt through her undertunic of light fabric. “And this?”

She bites harder on her smile, but can’t suppress it. Alice looks down at her, rich-lipped mouth set firm, even stern. “Without giggling, madame.”

It’s so tempting to giggle. She might even get Alice to laugh, too, a light and airy laugh like a young girl’s. Even more, she wants to make the filthy-sounding word a request, a direction, a plea. “It’s the— _the coun,_ Alice.”

Still no smile from her. “ _G-_ , madame, not _c-._ ” Then it breaks, revealing her teeth, a little long for beauty but white and regular as battlements. “If you say this one wrong then everyone will snicker!”

As if Katharine doesn’t know that! “ _Gon, cu_ — _gown,_ is that right?”

“Yes. Well done.” Taking her hand again, her servant, her teacher, her friend lays kisses over her palm and the backs of her fingers.

English is a dirty language, and at first she was shy of it, shocked at it. But Katharine has grown to like it. Though sometimes shy, she is always curious. Alice, who in her thirty years has seen so much of the world, can satisfy her curiosity like no one else. She makes learning a process of unexpected pleasures. The joy of knowledge, of solving riddles, of drawing sense from things becomes mixed with even more ingenious rewards.

She shifts against Alice’s other palm, still resting on her belly. Rocking her hips, she tries to draw it lower.

Alice knows what she is trying to do and resists. Her fingers lift a length of blond hair from Katharine’s head, let it coil around them. “And this is?”

The lesson continues. She says the words, as carefully as she can, sometimes mangling them, sometimes giggling. Alice smiles more when she is correct than when they come up against a double meaning. But Katharine is patient. And when the moment comes she seizes it.

“Your turn!” She throws her arms around Alice and pulls her down. Rolls to kneel above her. Alice is already bare, and in a moment Katharine strips off her own undergown. Then she touches her, softly murmuring the name of each part—“ _Arm. Neck. Sin. Waist. Legs._ ” Her hands settle on each thigh, caressing, then move along the line of her body. Katharine nuzzles her collarbone and throat, feeling breath and laughter.

“ _Mouth,_ ” she says. “ _Lips._ ” Lets them meet, kissing gently at first, close-mouthed as befits a courting maid. Inasmuch as any kisses in such places befit a courting maid. But already she wants to kiss Alice in more unseemly places still.

“ _Shoulder. Arm. Ell-bow. Wrist. Fingers_.” Breathing the words over her sensitive, ticklish skin. Alice shivers. Her hand strokes Katharine’s hair, pushing it back from her face, fingers brushing over her scalp and spreading warmth in their wake.

“Very good.”

“ _Stomach. Waist._ ”

She makes the words her own, lays claim to them with her tongue. Lays claim to other things, too. Alice’s legs curl around her as Katharine whispers against her breasts, belly, mound. She kisses her there also, smelling and tasting her, pungent and salty. Alice’s hips rock and she gasps, though this isn’t the special treat for her that it is for Katharine. She knows what Alice likes best. Alice is waiting, hoping that after she’s teased her enough, left her sopping the sheets under them, she will slide up and insinuate a thigh between hers, will bring her mouth which is full of her up to her lips. So they can kiss while rutting against each other, slicked and swift to satisfaction. The thought makes her breath short while her tongue flickers over Alice’s cunt.

“I know what you’re hinting at,” her teacher pants at last. “But you must learn to ask for what you want.”

“I’m still learning the words.” And then she licks deeper, letting the heavy heat of her tongue do the asking.

She will learn all of them in time. Or all Alice deigns to teach her—some of the coarser terms, the earthier, the more interesting must be coaxed from her. Caught in her blushes at an unintended meaning. Begged for. Earned. So it was even in French. When all else fails, Katharine has learned to listen, straining her ears to catch maids’ gossip and jokes from the men-at-arms. She will probably do the same in England, continuing her education.

She realizes she can think of England without a single tremor of anxiety. No feeling of uncertainty, of ignorance, of being overwhelmed. Only eager curiosity. But then Alice is squirming beneath her, and she only squirms more as Katharine traces the way back up her body, murmuring her new vocabulary against her skin.

“How did I do?” she asks.

Alice kisses her forehead, a soft kiss of affection and approval. “Very well,” she says. “Your pronunciation isn’t perfect, but then neither is mine. It is good to sound like a Frenchwoman.” She grins. “Universally it is found charming.”

Katharine laughs. Then shifts her hips, moving wet flesh against flesh.

“And yes,” Alice acknowledges. “You have earned some reward.”

She flips her, and Katharine lets her body melt against the mattress as Alice’s mouth moves over her. Planting a kiss to her collarbone, in the valley between her breasts as she rolls one beneath her palm. Tender. Slow. A little too slow.

Katharine closes her eyes, closes out the bars of light on the ceiling and concentrates only on sensation.

Her husband’s tongue, the tongue of the English invaders, the conquerors, will always for her be tied to this. To sweet Alice and her stories and games. To the lips and teeth that graze her, teasing. And the tongue that delves and manipulates, creating pleasure that coils in her belly and curves her limbs until she is all trembling with it. She will never be able to speak a word of this language without feeling these echoing spasms of her own triumph.

Alice slides a finger inside her, slick and easy. Her breath softly touches Katharine’s swollen clitoris, sending another sharp shiver through her. A second finger joins, stroking in, out, slow and gentle and coated with wetness like silk. Then both Alice’s hands are at her thighs, bracing them wide. Her tongue is moving in a strange pattern. Katharine strains to understand it. When she does, she laughs.

There are so many different ways to shape an _E._ Spelled out, over and over. The top, bottom, and side bars all in one sweeping stroke, and then the short punctuation of the middle. Or one long line and three strokes across  her bud, her entrance, and the tender skin farther back. Or a single continuous curl. Focusing inward and pressing there, welcomed as her body unfolds to the sweet, gentle pressure.

And then—three strokes in a different configuration. Katharine is so far lost that she almost resents the need to unpuzzle another riddle. But Alice is in everything her teacher. She continues, patiently, regularly, until her pupil grasps the answer.

It is an _A._ For _Angleterre_. Her new kingdom in her old tongue. And the initial of Alice’s name. It must be meant, she realizes, as a sort of reassurance or promise. Not that Katharine needs one in this moment of triumph, but maybe Alice does.

Katharine reaches down, strokes the thick, rich hair with its strands of unseasonal gray at the temples. Her other hand is met by one of Alice’s, still slick with her. Their fingers clasp. _Together,_ Katharine promises silently, too overcome to speak. Together they will go to this strange land, this kingdom that will become hers, and together they will brave whatever adventures it offers, whether they prove as frightening as its armies or as full of sweet surprises as its clumsy, ridiculous, delightful language.

As Katharine fractures into joy, it is all she needs to know.


End file.
